Three
1447 Words
The rooftop of the Aurelian Tower shone in the golden light of New Avalon’s rising sun. Justin Sallow stood by himself at the edge, hands on the railing, as the wind tugged gently at his sleeves.
He didn’t move when footsteps approached behind him.
“I knew you’d come,” Justin said without turning.
Tafari Oxx stepped into the light, his obsidian suit immaculate as always. “You asked me here,” he said simply.
Justin turned now, facing him with calm calculation. “Because something’s changed.”
Tafari tilted his head slightly. “You’re referring to the girl.”
“She’s not just a girl. She’s a storm in heels,” Justin muttered. “And I need to know why I can’t get her off my mind after that night at the hotel.”
“You think this is fate?” Tafari asked. “Or a setup?”
“I don’t believe in coincidence. Not when it lands her in my room uninvited and then leads to this... noise.”
Tafari’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been reading the headlines.”
“I don’t need to. The silence is louder than scandal.” Justin turned away again. “So tell me—why does the world suddenly care where I sleep?”
Tafari reached into his coat and gave Justin a thin envelope. Inside were newspaper clippings, screenshots, and reports from the Consortium—all marked with the same name: Peacemaker.
Justin looked through them quickly. “They’ve been calling me that for a while.”
“Since Stockholm,” Tafari said. “You solved problems no one else could. Governments listened, wars stopped right in the middle. Now they treat you like a legend.”
“I don’t want legend,” Justin muttered.
“Too late.”
He let the papers fall onto the table behind him. “Then let’s give them something real to chase.”
Tafari raised a brow. “You’re ready?”
Justin’s voice was quiet. “It’s time I stopped reacting and started directing.”
“And what’s your plan?”
“I’ve got three main goals,” Justin said. “First, find Aslan Twelvetrees. He saved my life before Stockholm and then disappeared. I owe him more than just staying quiet about it.”
Tafari gave a slight nod. “We’ve already activated shadow scans. No digital trace yet.”
“Then keep searching,” Justin said. “Second, I want to meet this so-called fiancée everyone keeps talking about. If the Cakebreads made some deal without telling me, I want to see the agreement for myself.”
“And third?”
Justin’s jaw flexed. “I want answers about where I came from. Before Stockholm. Before all of it.”
Tafari’s voice softened. “You think the city knows?”
“I think someone does. And I want to know why they kept it from me.”
They sat in silence for a while, neither one saying a word.
“We could make an appearance at the Cakebread gala next week,” Tafari offered. “Meet the girl, show face, and stay visible while we dig deeper.”
“No,” Justin said. “I don’t want cameras. I want the truth. Arrange something private.”
“There’s the old estate in East Virellé,” Tafari said. “It’s still in Cakebread hands.”
Justin nodded. “Set it up. Today.”
The Virellé estate stood tall behind wrought-iron gates and rolling hills, a grand mansion built on generations of legacy. It overlooked sprawling vineyards and dense woods, every part of it dripping with that proud, old-world arrogance.
Justin arrived in silence—no guards, no fanfare.
Inside, he stood before a massive window, watching the horizon, lost in thought.
The swift and furious sound of heels snapped him out of it.
He turned.
Analia Fernsby walked through the doorway in a black trench coat, sunglasses sliding down her nose, as she suddenly stopped at the entrance.
“You,” she snarled.
Justin blinked. “You’re here?”
“Don’t play coy.” She tossed her sunglasses onto a nearby table. “This is my family’s estate. You showing up here is harassment, not coincidence.”
“I didn’t know,” Justin said evenly. “I came here to meet my fiancée.”
Her mouth opened—then closed.
“Excuse me?” she said slowly.
“That’s what I was told,” he continued. “A private meeting arranged by Aldin Cakebread. To meet the woman I’m meant to marry.”
Analia’s eyes blazed. “And somehow... that’s me?”
Justin studied her. “Your name was given.”
She took a step forward. “This is some twisted attempt at control, isn’t it? First you stage the hotel scene—what, hoping I’d owe you? Now you show up here, claiming fate?”
“I didn’t stage anything,” he said. “You stumbled into my world. I only caught you.”
“Please,” she sneered. “You’re a nobody trying to ride on my name. You think attaching yourself to me gives you legitimacy.”
“I don’t need your name,” Justin said calmly. “I have my own.”
She crossed her arms. “You want my company? My reputation? What is it, Justin? What’s the angle?”
“There is no angle.”
“There always is,” she snapped. “And I won’t be bought. Not by your titles, not by your secrets and not by your sultry little calm and your savior complex.”
He looked at her for a long time. “I came here to meet the girl in the prophecy. Not to fight.”
“Prophecy?” she echoed, appalled.
Just then, a door creaked open behind them.
“Indeed,” came a gravelly voice.
They both turned.
Aldin Cakebread entered with a calm smile, dressed in gray wool and old-world elegance. A cane tapped rhythmically as he stepped into the room, his eyes gleaming with mischief and certainty.
“You’re early,” he said to Justin. “Good. Means you’re serious.”
“I’m here,” Justin replied, voice neutral.
“And so is she,” Aldin said, smiling toward Analia. “Which means fate has caught up.”
“Grandfather,” Analia snapped, “this is insane. You can’t possibly think—”
“You know what my mentor told me,” Aldin interrupted. “The union of shadow and flame would either tear the world apart or bind it into something indestructible.”
Analia blinked. “That was a metaphor. Or a bedtime riddle. It wasn’t real.”
“It’s always been real,” he said. “And you’re the fire.”
She turned to Justin. “And let me guess—you’re the shadow.”
Justin didn’t answer.
“I won’t do this,” she said coldly.
“You will,” Aldin said, not unkindly. “Because the marriage contracts were signed decades ago. Your father and I made the arrangements. You are bound.”
“I’ll challenge it.”
“You’ll lose.”
Her jaw tightened. “So you’re really forcing me into this?”
“No,” Aldin said gently. “I’m freeing you from what comes next. With him by your side, no one, not even Aziz—can touch you.”
Analia’s breath caught at the name. Her anger faltered for a heartbeat, but she masked it fast. “This is his doing, isn’t it? He wants me cornered. Powerless. So he pushed you.”
“Aziz tried,” Aldin said. “But I was never his to influence.”
She stared at Justin. “You said you didn’t want this.”
“I didn’t,” he replied.
“But you’re going to let it happen.”
“I don’t run from storms. I walk into them.”
Analia scoffed. “Don’t romanticize it.”
“I’m not.”
Aldin stepped forward. “The ceremony is tonight. I’ve made the arrangements. If you walk away now, Analia, you’ll be alone when Aziz comes. And he is coming.”
Silence fell.
Analia’s lips curled into a bitter smirk. “Fine. You want a performance? I’ll give you one. But don’t mistake agreement for submission.”
“No one ever would,” Justin said.
She gave him a long, venomous look. “Stay out of my way.”
“You’re my fiancée now,” he said coolly. “That may be difficult.”
Then, without another word, she turned and stormed down the hall.
Justin exhaled.
Aldin smiled faintly. “She reminds me of her mother. Only sharper.”
Justin didn’t answer.
- Writer
